Chapter Eleven
The Pet
Henry reappeared through the fence piece by piece, looking like a child’s rubber toy that had been overstretched to the point of breaking.
“How was that?” he asked.
Luke, Resus and Cleo stared at the phantom in horror. His face sagged dramatically to one side, his stomach bulged over the waistband of his trousers and his arms were now so long that they dragged on the ground as he walked.
“Yikes!” exclaimed Resus. “It might be an idea to stick to open doors for the time being.”
A pale shadow fell over the group as they grabbed bits of Henry and tried to reshape him. “When you’ve all finished mucking around,” snarled Mr Aspin, “it’s time for Henry’s first test!”
“Yes, sir,” croaked Henry, finally looking more or less like himself again. “Whatever you say, sir.”
The phantom president consulted his clipboard. “The first challenge is for Harper to Petrify a Pet...”
“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard,” said Cleo. “Cats and dogs have a sixth sense about ghosts. They frequently see things that people can’t.”
“The problem is,” said Luke, “that I haven’t seen Shan the witch’s cat around for ages, and the only dogs in Scream Street are Sir Otto’s hellhounds.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere near them.” Henry quivered. “They scare me!”
“Wait,” said Resus. “The rule is that Henry has to scare a pet, right?”
“That’s right,” said Aspin.
“Then it doesn’t have to be cat or a dog.” The vampire beamed. “Follow me...”
They found Fifi Crudley in her garden, playing with her pet mouse. The young bog monster was encouraging the mouse to run from left to right by offering it lumps of cheese.
“There you go,” said Resus.
“A mouse?” scoffed Aspin, flicking through his notes.
“It’s still a pet,” Resus pointed out. “And Henry shouldn’t have to blow too hard in order to give it a scare.”
Mr Aspin, unable to find anything in the rules that forbade a phantom from scaring a mouse, produced a pen and got ready to make notes. “Get on with it,” he growled.
“OK, Henry,” said Cleo. “This is it... Just do your best.”
The phantom nodded nervously and crouched down in front of the mouse. Fifi, unable to see him, continued to make the animal dash back and forth. Frowning in concentration, Henry blew gently.
The mouse stopped, mid-scamper, and turned to face Henry, whiskers twitching.
“It’s working!” hissed Resus. “Blow harder, Henry!”
Henry sucked in a deep lungful of air and blew as hard as he could. The mouse stared at him, blinking in the breeze, then was suddenly lifted off its feet. It flew straight at Fifi, sinking into her gooey stomach with a sickening schlop!
“Squeaker!” screamed Fifi, plunging a fist into the muddy folds of her belly and fishing around for her tiny friend.
The trio were dragging Henry towards the garden gate by the time she pulled the mouse free.
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